


The Stable Boy

by dragonswithjetpacks



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Beatrice Cousland, Child Alistair (Dragon Age), Child Cousland - Freeform, Childhood Memories, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-10 00:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonswithjetpacks/pseuds/dragonswithjetpacks
Summary: Before they were the Heroes of Ferelden, they were simply just children. Alistair, a troubled child. And Beatrice, a curious one. They would never remember the first time they met.





	The Stable Boy

The sun was setting, casting a gloomy shadow of the castle over the lake. Some rested in their chambers, book at hand with a pillow tucked neatly behind them for support.. Others sat in the dining hall laughing loudly over shared stories and cups of mead. Nonetheless, they were all happy with bellies full and smiles abound. Even the servants giggled quietly among one another in the hallways and closets. The word spread that Arl’s guests were kind and generous, much to their liking as some guests were not so gracious whatsoever. None would wait in fear that night in worry that one might have offended a nobleman attending a Redcliffe dinner. The castle had a certain mood set to it as if there was some sort of celebration when really there was none at all. Simply just good company. And everyone could agree with happy thoughts, that it had been a pleasant night. Everyone, that is, except a young boy. He huffed and paced around the kennels, kicking at the bale of hay as he passed.

  
“Don’t chase the chickens,” he mimicked in a high pitched voice before swinging his wooden sword against a plank.

“Yeah, well the chickens ate my lunch!”

He yelled at it afterward, backing away to prepare another swing. A hound in a kennel nearby sighed loudly while stretching against the bars of the cage.

“You aren’t getting another tunic if you ruin this one.”

He swung again, making another notch in the wood. A few from his audience lifted the ears, but did not see cause for any other alarm. They were used to the boy.

“Eat the rest of your greens.”

He spun, throwing his entire weight into the backhanded swing this time. The impact caused him to stumble off balance. He was uncertain if it was his sloppy technique or unchecked anger that caused him to be off guard. Though, he refused to admit it had anything to do with his swing despite the fact that his wrist and hand felt fuzzy. He clenched then un-clenched his hand, trying to pin point where exactly the pain was coming from. If he had hurt himself, he knew the sword would be taken away.So he threw the sword aside and with a loud groan, he threw himself against the hay. It would, once again, be his bed for the night.

“Old hag,” he sniveled. “Your greens taste like dog vomit, anyhow.”

He thought he was alone. Otherwise, he would not have said such things. But he jumped,as well as a few of the hounds, when they heard feint giggling from the doorway. When he looked he saw her there. A girl, a few years younger than him, peering from behind the frame. One hand was still over her mouth as the other clenched the wood. And when their eyes met, she giggled again while maintaining his gaze. He recognized her as the Teryin’s daughter. The mabari new there was no threat to the child. So they lay their heads back down with cautious wondering eyes. The boy, on the other hand, wondered how she made it into the hallways without being heard.

“What are you doing down here?” he lowered his brow.

"I was bored," she shrugged while stepping into sight. "I snuck out of my room to do some exploring."

“I can see that. But why are you here?”

“I could hear you… through the door,” she briefly glanced over her shoulder down the hallway. “I was only curious. Don’t be angry.”

“I'm not angry,” he frowned and relaxed back against the hay.

With her hands folded across her waist, she stepped into the room and further into the light. Her hair was long, wavy, and a color that appeared to be dark brown. But when the light reflected, he could see there was a red tint in the color. It reminded him of a darker mead that was brewed for the blacksmith.

“Do you live down here?" she asked softly "I thought you were a stable boy?”

“I’m not allowed to sleep in the stables,” he replied.

In truth, he was moved to the kennels to keep from stirring the horses. It was said his snoring startled them. But it was not he who was snoring. Yet, he was not about to tell the Arlessa that her friend had drunkenly stumbled into the stables for a “nap”. Now, he was forced to sleep with the dogs. Not that he minded, really. At least they were excited to see him at the end of the day. It was more than what he could say about anyone else.

“But you’re just a boy,” she said, turning her head to the side.

“I’m not just a boy,” he wrinkled his nose at her.

His freckles grew closer together across his face. They were hard to see beneath the dirt.

“Then what are you?” she grinned mischievously.

“I’m…” he hesitated. “I’m no one. Just… just Alistair.”

“And I’m-“

“I know who you are,” he snapped.

“Well you don’t have to be rude,” she put her hands on her hips.

“If you don’t like my rudeness you can leave,” he said calmly, obviously satisfied he had irritated her.

The grip she had on her hips fell but her hands curled into fists at her side, instead. Her face hardened within a split second and her bright eyes turned cold. “I thought you looked lonely. At the stables. But I can see now why you’re alone.”

He bolted upright. “You’re just a silly little girl. What could you possibly know?”

“I know if you hold your sword a little higher on the hilt, you won’t sprain your wrist,” she yelled back. “I wanted to tell you that. And I just did. But you don’t deserve the advice. And to that I’ll say… I’ll just say goodnight.”

In one swift motion, she spun her heals and stomped forward. He heard the door to the stair case swing open. but she didn't bother to shut it behind her. Alistair sighed while rolling his eyes. She had no right to pester him that evening. She didn't belong in the kennels. It didn't matter if she was curious. It didn't matter if she noticed him before. She was just a foolish girl seeking trouble. And he continued to tell himself that even after he slammed the door shut. He wanted to lay back down in his bed of hay. But walking across the stone floor he saw his sword he had cast down. He remembered what she said.

"Hmmm," he hummed to himself quietly in thought.

What would she know about swordplay? She was a lady; a young girl who would surely be trained to dance at balls and curtsy in court. There was nothing about her that told him he should take her advice. Nevertheless, he did. And he gripped the hilt of his sword higher than he had before. In his rebellious young rage, he lashed out at the plank again. And surprisingly, no matter how hard he hit, he did not feel any discomfort while swinging full force. As much as he hated to admit... she was right.

**Author's Note:**

> A cute little thing I wrote a long time ago. It was an AU some people were discussing that inspired me. Just a one-shot idea about my Bea meeting Alistair as a child.


End file.
